Chapter 7: What Victor Knew
Richard called back at seven the next morning.
Ethan was already at the dining table with coffee and the folder from the locked room spread in front of him.
He had been there since five.
"He moved money last night," Richard said.
"After your call.
Transferred what he could reach into an account in his wife's name.
My contact at the fraud unit flagged it this morning — they'd already started watching after I called last night."
"Can they freeze it?"
"They're working on it now.
He was fast, but not fast enough." A pause.
"Ethan, he also called someone last night.
We don't know who yet.
But the call lasted forty minutes."
Ethan looked at the folder.
"He said he had something.
About Father.
Something he'd make public."
"Do you know what it might be?"
"Not yet."
"Then we need to find out before he does.
If he's holding information and releases it strategically, it complicates the narrative around the estate case.
Juries and judges are human — perception matters even when evidence is strong."
After the call ended, Ethan sat for a moment.
Then he went upstairs and knocked on Clara's door.
She answered quickly.
She had been awake.
"Victor said he has something about my father," Ethan said.
"Something he'd use publicly.
Did Father ever say anything to you — anything he was worried about, or ashamed of, or wanted kept private?"
Clara looked at him steadily.
"Yes."
He waited.
She stepped back from the door.
"Come in."
The room was small and neat.
Noah's drawings were taped to one wall — crayon houses, stick figures, a large yellow sun.
Clara sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands.
"Your father had a daughter," she said.
"Before your mother.
Before the estate, before any of it.
He was very young.
The woman moved away.
He didn't know about the child until she was already grown."
Ethan sat in the chair near the window.
"He found out about eight years ago," Clara continued.
"He tried to contact her.
She didn't want to meet him.
He respected that.
But he set aside money for her in a private account — not in the will, not in any document Victor could see.
He told me about it because he wanted someone to know it existed, in case something happened to him."
"Victor found out."
"I think so.
I think that's what he's holding." Clara looked at her hands.
"Your father was afraid that if it became public, it would look like he had hidden assets.
Like he had been dishonest with your mother, with the estate, with you."
"He was trying to do right by someone."
"Yes.
But Victor could frame it differently."
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
Outside, Noah's voice came from down the hall — he was awake, talking to himself the way children do in the first minutes of morning.
"What's her name?" Ethan said.
"Diane.
She lives in Portland.
She's forty-one.
She's a teacher."
"Does she know about the account?"
"No.
Your father never told her.
He said he didn't want her to feel bought."
Ethan stood.
"I need to call her before Victor does."
Clara looked up.
"You don't have to do this.
It's not your responsibility."
"She's my sister," he said simply.
He said it the way someone says a word they've just learned is true.
Clara's expression shifted — something between surprise and relief.
"The number is in your father's address book," she said.
"The green one.
It's in the locked room, in the top desk drawer.
He wrote it under the letter D."
Ethan nodded and moved toward the door.
"Ethan."
He stopped.
"Your father would be very glad," Clara said, "that it was you who found everything."
He didn't answer.
But he paused for a moment with his hand on the doorframe before he walked away.
Down the hall, Noah appeared in his pajamas, hair flattened on one side.
"Mr.
Ethan," he said seriously.
"Did you sleep here?"
"No.
I came back early."
Noah considered this.
"Are you staying for breakfast?"
Ethan looked down at him.
May you like
"Yes," he said.
"I think I am."
